Trade Mistakes
by Raven Of Dark
Summary: It was just his need to stop the crime that spurred his actions. It was not an emotional response. His actions following the incident had nothing to do with the body currently resting against him…
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello all! I come with a new story. I gave myself a few months to recoup from the adventure that was _'A Wise Girl'_, but now I am back with a new plot bunny! I hope you all like it. SO! HP, SH, JW, MW, MH, GL, Mrs. Hudson, and maybe others? JW/SH, SH/HP (**NOT LIKE THAT**! You dirty people _~snicker~_).

Disclaimer: I own nothing concerning Sherlock, Harry Potter, or any other random fandom I may bring into my writing. If I use any lyrics in my chapters, I will credit the artist/band at the end of the chapter.

Summary:_ It was just his need to stop the crime that spurred his actions. It was not an emotional response. His actions following the incident had nothing to do with the body currently resting against him…_

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He was watching the figure across the street with a deep concern/anger that he hadn't felt since John was inside the Guy Fawkes bonfire; the teen was far too skinny for his own benefit, walked with a defined limp that screamed ankle injury, bruising along his arms and shoulders that was peeking out of the clothing far too big for the lithe frame it graced, & a wariness of anybody passing too close to his person, especially the two portly figures that walked behind the boy. Anyone with a brain could see that the boy was abused and neglected: in fact, Sherlock could see his blogger tense when he followed the detective's line of sight. The urge to automatically dismantle the corpulent man was aligned with the knowledge that this was the same person Scotland Yard was investigating in several charges of fraud and racketeering that were being placed on several members of Grunnings drill factory; Lestrade had been asked to recruit Sherlock & John to assist in the investigation to make sure that the case would be air tight. Several higher ups were already being arrested, but this man, one Vernon Dursley, had several charges that needed to be brought together in order to properly detain him.

The teen was hauling several bags of what looked like food and clothing, obviously not being bought for him, failing to keep up with the two obese men and lone female, Petunia Dursley, as they passed the youth. John twitched next to him as the boy stumbled, his tan fingers curling into a fist when the trio only stopped to watch the overburdened teen struggle to stand again. They had been _**ordered**_ to not interact with the obese man through their investigation, but Sherlock found himself racing across the street the second his recognized the anger building in Dursley's face after the teen failed to stand. John was on his heels as the detective reached the small group, the podgy man hissing at the boy, his fist raised.

"I'll teach you, _freak_!" There was so much venom in the man's words, that Sherlock was surprised that none dribbled down his many chins.

It was John who caught the man's wrist before it could connect with the teen's head, so Sherlock focused on the boy, finding him bracing for what could only be a routine strike.

"It's alright." He whispered, kneeling down in front of the boy, ignoring the shrill yells coming from the woman towards John, who was giving it back to the horse face woman. "He won't touch you again."

The teen's arms slowly moved away from his face until brilliant emerald orbs connected with his and Sherlock could see the fear and confusion dominating any other reaction the boy was having. Then the eyes looked behind him, causing the detective to turn in time to see John knocking Dursley to the ground, Lestrade suddenly appearing to take over. John began to explain what had happened while Mrs. Dursley was silenced by the detective inspector after she tried to verbally assault John. When Sherlock turned back to the teen, the boy's arms were wrapped around his torso, despite the pain it caused; the detective could see the flinches of pain flashing over the youth's face every time his arms moved.

"What's your name?" He asked, slowly removing his scarf as he watched the boy shiver as the cool fall air passed over both of them. The teen remained silent, withdrawing into himself when asked the simple question.

Now that he was closer, Sherlock could see that not only were the clothes significantly larger than the boy, but they were thread bare and years old; no doubt they had once belonged to Dursley's son, judging by the other teen's bulk. He was far more emaciated then previously noted and there were layers of scars underneath the bruises that were in in varying stages of healing; something inside of Sherlock twisted as he memorized the injuries he could see.

"Here," he spoke softly, holding out the hand that held his dark blue scarf "take this. It should at least keep your neck and shoulders warm."

The boy watched him carefully, his emerald orbs moving back and forth between Sherlock's hand and face, looking for any sign that the offer was false or something that would lead to harm towards him. After what seemed like eternity, the teen's thin arm reached out, allowing his fingers to gently grip the soft fabric before pulling it back towards his chest. The youth gazed at the item in awe before wrapping it around his neck, his fingers now wrapped up in the ends. Just as the detective was moving to call John over to tend the teen's wounds, a soft voice stopped him

"Harry."

Turning back to the teen, Sherlock found his emerald eyes lightened a bit and the smallest of smiles on his pale lips. The detective could not stop the quirk of his eyebrow while watching the boy's fingers fiddle the hem of his thin, patchwork shirt.

The youth's smile dropped at what he must have assumed to be a negative response from Sherlock. "M-my name is Har-Harry." Sherlock could see his chest moving faster along with the quickening breaths coming from the teen's mouth; only an idiot would miss the panic attack about to overtake the boy.

"Well Harry, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Sherlock."

Sherlock placed his hand out, hoping the boy would accept the invitation or, at the very least, see him as a minimal threat. Imagine the surprise that detective received when the boy's thin fingers gripped his; the small amount of trust already instilled into him from Harry makes something twist inside Sherlock that he couldn't quite understand.

'_So, he's not completely shut off from human contact.'_ The thought passed through his mind as the teen shook his hand & John's presence made itself known behind his shoulder. Harry tensed as he noticed the other's presence, but did not move away, only watched the doctor with trepidation.

"Harry, I would like you to meet John. John, this is Harry." Sherlock interjected, effectively drawing the boy's eyes back to his while John kneeled down next to the detective.

"Pleasure to meet you Harry." John whispered, his pale blue eyes lit up with the calm demeanor he used with his younger patients at the clinic. "I see you've managed to obtain the precious Sherlock Scarf."

Harry's cheeks lit up in a small blush, his remaining fingers griping the blue fabric; Sherlock still held the other hand, his own warmth seeping into the teens. "I like it a lot." Again his voice was soft, but the achievement Sherlock counted was the absence of fear in the emerald eyes as John moved closer to the detective.

"It looks well on you. Harry, may I ask a favor?" John asked, trying to phrase his request carefully in his head. Harry watched him carefully before giving a small nod. "I'm actually doctor and I was hoping that you'll let me examine you: I want to make sure your ankle injury can be reset, among other things. It would make me less anxious about your injuries."

Panic bloomed across the teen's face, but Sherlock quickly spoke up. "We don't want to shove you into some random hospital, Harry. John has his own practice, our friend Mary runs it with him and I can guarantee that your…_relatives_ will never be able to touch you again. You will be safe, I swear."

"And if I want to leave? Can I just go if I want to?" Harry's voice was now cracking with held back tears.

"I would never force a patient to stay in my office, only when I am legally bound to does that occur."

Emerald eyes switched back and forth between the detective and his blogger, lit up with both fear and curiosity; Sherlock could see the wheels running in the teen's mind, processing everything he had encountered already.

'_He would be wonderful to work with. Young minds are still open and willing to expand, unlike the adults that surround me.'_ Again, the twisting deep inside him confused him, but he voiced none of these thoughts, waiting for the teen to answer.

Eventually, Harry nodded, letting John place his jacket over his shoulders while Sherlock moved to explain to Lestrade what would be occurring before a sleek black car pulled up next to him; and here he thought Mycroft was ignoring him for once. John noticed the vehicle at once, directing Harry to it, the teen eying the idling car before sliding in, Sherlock after him with John closing door once he joined the duo. The car took off a second later, the teen watching the city move by while John and Sherlock shared a whispered conversation about their new… _'charge.'_

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A/N: Here we are! I had this plot bunny run through my mind and it would not let me do anything until I wrote this down. Please tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello all! I come with a new story. I gave myself a few months to recoup from the adventure that was 'A Wise Girl', but now I am back with a new plot bunny! I hope you all like it. SO! HP, SH, JW, MW, MH, GL, Mrs. Hudson, and maybe others? JW/SH, SH/HP (NOT LIKE THAT! You dirty people ~snicker~).

Disclaimer: I own nothing concerning Sherlock, Harry Potter, or any other random fandom I may bring into my writing. If I use any lyrics in my chapters, I will credit the artist/band at the end of the chapter.

A/N: OMg you guys, seriously, I love you all. Now many of you had questions that I will answer in the actual story. I can't wait to see where this plot bunny takes me….just as long as no one attempts to take my head…

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Sherlock watched Harry limp into the exam room, Mary's hazel eyes lit up with anger as she helped John pull the teen onto the table; when Harry winced as he leaned back, Mary almost ran out of the room before coming back in with several pillows that she then placed underneath the teen's back.

"Thank you." Harry whispered as he leaned back again, his wild black hair standing out against the white table paper.

"No problem sweetheart." She replied, moving back to John.

Sherlock watched as his blogger lifted Harry's injured ankle, the boy holding in the yelp of pain that caused the twisting in the detective's gut again; he may have to have John examine him if this didn't cease. When John pulled the torn trainer off the ankle, the man's expression darkened at the state of the joint: it was red, swollen, & showed signs of previous breakage and injuries, if the scars were anything to go by.

"When did you hurt your ankle Harry?" Mary whispered as she documented everything she saw in a tablet, building evidence for anything that could be brought against the Dursleys.

"It was a few weeks ago…I think…it happened before school let out. I got into a fight in a place I wasn't supposed to be. My friends got hurt…I lost…my godfather." Harry's voice was tight; his head turned away from the trio to hide the tears building in his brilliant emerald eyes.

Sherlock moved forward without thinking, resting his hand on the top of the teen's head, fingers carding through the hair in an attempt to calm the youth. He felt Harry tense before relaxing again, moving his head back so their eyes met and the sheer amount of trust in the teen's eyes flabbergasted the detective.

Sherlock failed to see the look that Mary & John shared, nor the smile that graced the blogger's lips at the sight before him. Not very many got to see the human side of the consulting detective, John being the rare one to be very intimate with that side. Children were the one section of humanity that Sherlock respected as they were still open to ideas and theories; John was unsurprised that the detective was drawn to the boy, who had very intelligent eyes once the fear left them.

"Well, no wonder the joint is in so much pain. You shouldn't have been walking on it, let alone carrying all those bags. I need to set it and cast it temporarily until it heals; so that means crutches for you young man, at least for a few weeks." John successfully pulled the teen's attention back to him while he wrapped the joint tightly in an ace bandage before leaving the room to retrieve the supplies needed.

Mary tapped the tablet in her hand, looking up at Harry with eyes lit up from held tears. "Harry, I need information for the documentation on the files, that alright?"

When the teen nodded, Sherlock helped him sit up before bringing the table up to meet the boy's back. He almost retreated to the wall, but when Harry leaned into him slightly he resumed his position next to the bed, hand resting on the boy's shoulder.

"Full name and date of birth?"

Hesitating at first, Harry whispered, "Harry James Potter, July 31, 1999."

'_Fifteen? He seems much younger, although that could be the malnutrition.'_ Sherlock's thoughts were running rampant with several unkind thoughts concerning the Dursleys as well as storing everything about the teen into a new room in his mind palace.

"Parents' names and dates of birth?"

"James Potter and Lilly Potter nee Evans. I don't know their birthdays, but I do know their death dates."

Sherlock and Mary froze, John stopping in the doorway at the teen reply.

"When was that Harry?" Sherlock whispered, the teen's body trembling under his fingers.

"October 31, 2000." Instead of tears, Sherlock could tell that this had become an almost routine answer for him, leaving his tone void of emotion. "I never knew them and the only memory I have is my mother screaming my name before she died."

No one knew how to respond to Harry's words, the shock that he had been orphaned at a year old sinking into them, meaning he had been at his relative's house since then. What had he endured for the past fourteen years?

"Ok Harry, I need you to hold your ankle up until I get this wrapped ok? The splints will be uncomfortable, but they will stabilize the joint, allowing it heal properly." John's 'physician' voice active as he tried to distract from the current line of questioning.

Allowing the man to work on his ankle, Harry's mood lightened a bit as Mary distracted him with random conversation, Sherlock interjecting to correct something Mary said, earning a swat and/or rant back from the nurse. Once John set the splint, he sat back and gave the teen a gentle look.

"I need to examine the rest of your injuries. I promise I won't hurt you, but since we're documenting everything, I need to see the rest." He already knew he wouldn't like what he would see.

The teen gave a shaky nod before moving his hand the hem of the disgraceful item that dared to call itself a shirt; Sherlock instantly noticed the large wince of pain that traveled through the teen's back. Leaning down until he was level with Harry's eyes, he whispered

"Do you want me to help?"

Shock filled emerald eyes flew into his, searching for ill intent; finding none, Harry nodded, allowing Sherlock to help lift the clothing over his head. What was revealed sickened the detective to his core and he turned his face away so not to reveal his rage to the teen; the amount of scarring, bruising and open wounds showed that the teen had a very high level of pain tolerance in order to walk around like it was nothing. But what truly enraged Sherlock was the burn marks on Harry's back, a large area dedicated to a single word: **freak**. The edges of the burn showed that it was not new, but something that had been redone several times; this must have been Vernon's main torture spot.

"Mary, come here. This will require photographic evidence."

She stood quickly, tablet in hand, gasping when she saw Harry's back; this caused the teen to turn around, but Mary's gentle hands cupped his cheek after forcing the tablet into Sherlock's hands and him out of the way.

"You sweet boy, I will never let those monsters touch you again." Her hazel eyes were swimming with tears, matching the teens'. She leaned forward, placing a soft kiss to his temple, Harry leaning into the comfort and warmth.

John had taken the tablet, holding in his anger as he captured the image before letting the electronic clatter onto his chair. He silently returned to the examination, letting Mary & Sherlock distract the teen while mentally evaluating everything that would need to be done to bring Harry up to proper weight; it would take months before he would keep the pounds on, but with the right diet, the boy would look healthy and eventually _be healthy_.

While Mary conversed with John as he dictated his observations, Sherlock helped Harry back into his shirt, the teen wrapping the scarf around his neck again, burying his nose into the fabric. The detective watched as the boy's eyes shut and his breathing began to even out, all while tilted toward Sherlock. The boy's mannerisms screamed exhaustion that had to be years old and it seemed that he judged present company one where he could rest; _again_ that twisting in his gut. Letting his instinct take over, he slipped his arm underneath the teen's knees while the other circled around his back; Harry weighed almost nothing and the twisted feeling grew sharper.

"Oh and where are you going with him?" Mary's tone was light, bringing the detective's eyes up, catching John smirking at him.

"John needs to monitor him & I don't think sleeping in the office will do him any good. There is a spare bed for him in then flat: that way, he can be comfortable and John can keep an eye on him."

Not the best of excuses, but when Harry's cheek rested peacefully against his collarbone, it didn't matter in the end. John followed him out when he left the exam room, hailing a cab after they exited the building; Mary would lock up after them when she left after emailing the documents to Lestrade. The cab ride back to Baker Street was silent, John watching as Sherlock watched the youth in his arms, Harry's splinted ankle resting on John's leg; he could see the teen's eyelids fluttering in his sleep, his breaths steady even as they exited the cab and climbed the steps of 221 B.

"Best to put him on the sofa, seeing as walking down the steps would contradict my edict of him not walking on the ankle; I'll get a cover for him." John's voice trailed off as he went to their room.

Sherlock gently placed the teen on the sofa, holding him up enough to place several pillows underneath, leaving Harry at an angle; the fact that his nimble frame seemed to be swallowed by the thing bothered Sherlock more than he could admit. John came back in, placing the cover over the teen before pulling his detective away, convincing the man to rest after a moderate scolding about _'not bloody sleeping for the past three days'_.

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A/N: So, I added the time skip with Harry because I wanted him to be a young teen in an appropriate era, as we all know Sherlock loves his gadgets. SO what do we all think?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hello all! I come with a new story. I gave myself a few months to recoup from the adventure that was 'A Wise Girl', but now I am back with a new plot bunny! I hope you all like it. SO! HP, SH, JW, MW, MH, GL, Mrs. Hudson, and maybe others? JW/SH, SH/HP (NOT LIKE THAT! You dirty people ~snicker~).

Disclaimer: I own nothing concerning Sherlock, Harry Potter, or any other random fandom I may bring into my writing. If I use any lyrics in my chapters, I will credit the artist/band at the end of the chapter.

A/N: I AM SORRY! I did not intend for this to take forever to get out, but I had a lot of family things going on and then I changed jobs after my doctor moved out of state with his wife to be with their first grandkid, so while I have had the majority of this chapter written down, I haven't had the energy to type it up. I appreciate all the love and I do have answer for the reviewer who questioned the timing of Sirius' death: I know when he ACTUALLY died, but I've messed with the time lines for this story. So, **no**, Harry's birthday is still 1999.

Ok, mini rant over. Here's the chapter.

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Harry's eyes were still shut tight, his breathing steady as he slept as Sherlock watched him from the archway into the kitchen; John was puttering behind him with the tea kettle and cookware that would soon hold breakfast. The semblance of normal brought a layer of calm to the flat, something that had been missing since his…'_return_'. The detective almost turned away from the teen when a hitch in his breathing caught both men's attention.

"No…no please…stop…" Harry's voice was soft, but it carried over the short distance of the flat. His arms flayed out slightly, leaving one hand over the edge, fingers grazing the soft threads of the carpet. This was not the last movement as the haggard breathing caused the teen's chest to move very quickly, his back arching as the voice grew in volume.

"No please…don't hurt him! Stop…no…No!"

Sherlock's insides twisted sharply when Harry's pain and sorrow lined voice filled the flat. _'What has he experienced?'_ This was his only thought as his feet carried him towards the couch. Gently, he held the teen's hand in his own, not allowing the flinch to pull the cool flesh from his appendage.

"Harry?" His baritone voice was soft as he rested his free hand on the boy's skull, fingers brushing the thick locks from his forehead, revealing a strangely shaped scar that looked old and new at the same time; different from the burn marks on his back. Pulling back before he started analyzing and categorizing, he focused on the actual boy again. "Harry, it's alright." Emerald burst open, half a scream exiting the boy's pale lips that dropped when his eyes locked with the detective's, confusion running rampant until Sherlock finally saw the pieces fall into place.

"She-Sherlock?" His voice was rough and hoarse, as if he has been screaming for hours. After the detective nodded in response, the teen's eyes swept to the area around him, the look of a caged animal trying to map out the exits should it escape; Sherlock could deduce that he had been locked up and hurt before, making the twisting inside worsen.

The detective now could not stop the analyzing that burst through his mind palace, the room created around the teen expanding as Sherlock took in new information; the speed at which the room had found a permanent place so quickly only compared to John's room development. What did he deduce about himself from that?

"Morning Harry. Are you hungry?" John's voice broke the silence that had been building, tension underlining his tone.

The teen's stomach answered before he could, but Harry simply wrapped his arms around himself as he sat up; Sherlock's hand, now freed from Harry's, rested now on the teen's knee, which was trembling. Harry then denied his own stomach by shaking his head several time, curling back into the couch. "No, it's alright."

"Nonsense, you simply must try John's omelets. Not sure what he does to them as I've yet to crack _that_ case, but they are marvelous." Sherlock said quickly, trying to distract the teen.

"You won't go hungry here Harry, not if Mrs. Hudson gets her way. You'll fall in love with her biscuits." John added, a gentle smile towards the teen.

Said teen watched the adults surrounding him carefully, a fear in his eyes that seemed permanent, but it seemed that his growling stomach made the final decision as Harry finally nodded.

"Wonderful! What do you like: cheese, vegetables, meat? I can make several varieties; I've had to, seeing as someone can never make up his mind." John responded, his blue pinned on the dark haired detective.

Sherlock simply scoffed and shrugged towards his blogger before standing, eyeing the teen critically before nodding. "I should have shirts that will fit until we can get you more…_appropriate_ attire."

"You don't have to-"

"Of course we do, Harry." John interjected. "You should not have to walk around in the filthy, oversized rags of your cousin. You're a young man who deserves the ability to go around in clothing of your own."

"I just…just have never had anything bought for me. I've only ever had my school uniform and these." Harry's fingers plucked at the fraying strings on the pale gray shirt.

Sherlock's insides twisted so painfully this time that he physically flinched, drawing his blogger's eyes to him. He did not like that this frail teen in front of him endured so much at his…_ relative's_ hands, and yet, he could see more hidden away; a past that plagued the young man. He gripped the teen's knee tightly, drawing emerald eyes that were hazy with tears.

"You deserve decent sets of clothing, Harry. When you feel up to it, we'll go with Mary to pick things out."

Harry's shocked face quickly buried into Sherlock's shoulder, causing the detective to fall back into his legs, arms filled with a sobbing teenager. John knelt down next to the pair, his hand gently rubbing circles on the teen's back. Despite his numbing ankles, Sherlock refused to move until he felt Harry's body relax and sob diminish.

"I'm sorry." He sounded ten instead of fifteen…sounded like a wounded animal that only wants to survive another night, his voice muffled in Sherlock's shirt.

"Don't apologize for something that is not wrong." John replied in a whisper, trying to stay calm himself.

"It's weak and makes me weak and pathetic."

The words sounded rehearsed, as if they had been lectured and dictated to the fragile teen countless times; knowing the situation he had with the Dursley's, it probably had been.

"It is never weakness. It is the ability to release everything that builds up inside before it comes out in other…less healthy or safe ways. I know, I was like that not long ago." John responded, ignoring the guilty look that now filled Sherlock's blue/gray eyes.

The detective had frozen at John's words, remembering how his blogger had been while he was away the past two years; he knew that John had not 100% forgiven him for making him think that Sherlock was dead. Mary had berated him for a good three days about how John had fallen into an almost similar pattern as his own sister before she and Lestrade got him treatment.

Any further thoughts were stopped when the teen in his arms pulled back enough so his red rimmed eyes connected with the detective's again; his breathing was returning to normal, along with his heart rate. Sherlock could see him trying to find a way to turn the attention away from the cry episode he had just had, his blogger seeing this as well, the duo letting it drop as Harry finally spoke.

"Um, about that omelet…can I have cheese?" His voice was rough from sobbing, emotions still tense as he watched the doctor carefully.

"Well, we have several kinds of cheese to choose from, dear Harry. Come along, let's figure out which fromage is to your liking." John said, hopping up from his knelt position, traveling back into the kitchen.

Sherlock & Harry stood slowly, the detective letting the teen dictate how close he wanted to stay next to him, which was surprisingly close: within inches of his side. As John started listing off the many names of the cheeses in their fridge, Harry moved to the table, perching on the edge of the nearest chair, although he was in a relaxed lean onto the table, letting his injured ankle rest out in front of him. Sherlock threw in his own remarks on the types of dairy John was now bringing home and placing into their fridge, but was berated back with the comments of his '_experiments and body parts taking up more room than the fancy cheeses_'; John response earned a snicker from the dark haired teen, making both adults smirk towards him.

Harry watched the pair start moving in sync around the stove, Sherlock actually listening to John's orders, and couldn't help the feelings of content and safety that were running through his head; maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.

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A/N: OMG, this…should not have taken so long for me to get out. Thank you all for your patience while this one runs around like an idiot. So, I think this will be a simple story with this being the last chapter; leave some of the story for your imaginations. I never thought it would make it off my notebook, let alone on here. Thanks for the love while I let my muse rethink our story boards (wanders off the writing room AKA my bed).


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